Help Me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, You're My Only Ho - cont'd
(continued from part 32)
Tand sat at the console, watching Qui-Gon fight the sedative Phol had given him. He looked up as she joined him in the observation room, looking haggard. “He’s trying so hard.”
“He needs to rest. That is every bit as important as the control he’s learning. If he’s too exhausted when the time comes, that could be the end of it.” Phol slumped into the seat next to him and rested her forehead in her hands. Even in the dim light, Tand could see the gray smudges surrounding her eyes.
“He’s not the only one who needs some sleep.” Tand put a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll be fine here on my own for a while.”
Phol began to shake under his hand, and he realized she was sobbing quietly into her hands. For a moment he froze, uncertain what to do. This business with the Sith had half the Temple in an uproar. Few knew the whole plan, which was to the good. It would rock the faith of most Jedi to know that their last best hope of saving themselves was based in attachment.
Still, Phol seemed to have taken it uncommonly hard; Tand wasn’t sure how he would feel had he been the one putting a poisoned bracelet on Knight Chun-al-Leem’s wrist, or encouraging Master Jinn’s attachment, which had so nearly undone him.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispered, pulling her close. “We have to trust in the Force and do our duty – that’s all we can do.”
Her arms wrapped around him as his encircled her, and she wept harder against his shoulder. “What have we done, Rolan?”
Tand hid his surprise at hearing his given name. It was as if she had reached inside and plucked a chord deep withi him, leaving a resonance in his flesh that unsettled him. “What we had to do, Vyra. Nothing more or less than that.”
She pulled away, wiping her dark, almond-shaped eyes with the back of her hand. “Look at him.” She stepped toward the screen. “Qui-Gon is doing this because of love. Loyalty to the Order might have some part in it, but mostly for love. It is no different for Knights T’Crion and Chun-al-Leem. Even Master Yoda has as much as admitted that the Code’s strictures against attachment may need to be reconsidered. The fate of the Order depends on the actions of two deeply attached Jedi.”
Tand did not know what to say as he watched tears slide down Phol’s bluish skin. He felt that he might be seeing her for the first time, something raw, layers of duty and practicality stripped away. “You saw Jinn today, struggling to do this – for his love, not for the Order. But did you see Knight Chun? So calm, even knowing he was stepping into a mission that could… You know better than I what could become of him on the Rim, with a Force-crippled Knight in charge of the mission.”
“It was their choice. All of them.”
Phol slouched back in her seat, shrinking into it as if she had deflated. “And they pursue their roles with more dedication than if they had been chosen for them by the Council.”
Tand followed her gaze to the monitor, where Master Jinn’s face twitched in profile, even under the influence of sedatives.
“They do it for love,” Phol whispered.
A moment passed in which Tand did not know what to say, or whether he should say anything. He could sense Phol mastering her emotions, and almost envied Master Jinn his love. What was it like, to be so attached to another soul that their well-being and happiness mattered more than all others? Perhaps Tand would never truly know, but he wished he could spare Phol this heartache, all the same. She did not deserve to bear the burden alone. He watched the tall man, prone on the table in the next room. Tormented by love, moved by love to attempt such dangerous Force manipulations.
“It is… inspiring,” he said. Phol turned to him, a look of frank appraisal lingering on her face.
“I believe I will take some rest after all,” she said at last.
“I can handle things on my own for a couple of hours.”
Phol returned his smile, subdued but genuine, and nodded. She left without another word. Tand sat back heavily, his head feeling light, heart fluttering strangely in his chest. Maybe Phol wasn’t the only one who needed a rest.
The pain started when he was less than a mile from the ship, but Xanatos bit the inside
of his cheek and forced himself to pick out the supplies he believed they would need. A mission like this was based almost entirely on impression and performance. They both had to look the part. As much as he personally enjoyed improvised toys in his sex life, to convey the appearance of keeping a bed slave in a manner consistent with Lairso Meenk’s reputation for excess would take more than a few hair ties doubling as cock rings.
He made his final selections and consulted his list, lest the pain now gripping every inch of him had made him careless. The relief that washed over him as he finally entered the ship was amazing. As the pain ebbed away, the pleasures of life returned. His supple leathers caressed his skin as the hypersensitivity faded; a deep breath filled him with the musk of sex and sterile metal. He decided to get underway before visiting Bruck. Piloting the ship would give him the chance to focus on his goal.
He was already finding it surprisingly difficult to distance himself from Bruck’s suffering. Though he had always had a dominant streak, he had never been one to be heartlessly cruel – it had always been about giving his partners what they needed, the treatment they would respond to. Yet, if he was going to get through to Bruck, he had to push him hard. He had not anticipated the difficulty he was experiencing playing that part. Perhaps he truly did love Bruck, deep down. The thought that he’d separated himself so completely from his gentler feelings made him chuckle despite himself. Could he have been so thick as to have loved Bruck all along and not been aware of it?
Still, if things were to ever be right between them, he had to be hard now.
Once the ship’s course was laid in, he stowed some the finery he had purchased and carried the more specialized pieces into the sleep room.
Bruck writhed upon the bunk, a tantalizing picture of misery. His genitals had darkened painfully while Xanatos had been gone. Without so much as a nod of greeting, he strode over and released the binding around Bruck’s cock. Gasping in a mixture of pain and relief, Bruck trembled. His eyes never left his master.
“I brought you presents.” Xanatos put down his parcel and sat on the edge of the bunk, watching as Bruck’s clear, alert eyes follow him, missing nothing. A hand knotted in Bruck’s hair, Xanatos claimed a searing kiss, not releasing Bruck until he’d begun to moan deep in his throat and thrust his hips wantonly. “Never fear, my hungry little slut, I shall feed you soon enough.”
Bruck watched avidly as Xanatos began to rifle through his purchases. He brought out a few and smiled wickedly. “I’ve found a lovely assortment of toys equipped with induction nodes. Your pleasure or pain will be a mere button push away.”
He started with the antiseptic wipes, roughly cleansing Bruck’s chest and privates with businesslike detachment, then brought out a small device that resembled a weapon.
“Master, what-”
“You’ll see in a moment. Be still and this will be over quickly.” As Xanatos lowered the device, Bruck looked away and held his breath. “Good boy.”
The piercings went quickly and cleanly; Bruck didn’t fidget and scarcely made a sound. When it was over, Xanatos applied some topical bacta to Bruck’s pierced nipples and gently worked some under his foreskin, around his newly-pierced frenulum. “Those should heal very quickly. Let me show you what they can do.”
He pulled out the remote device and attached it to his wrist, then carefully twisted the tiny dials. Bruck gasped and unconsciously lifted his hips.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? It’ll be even better in a few hours when the bacta’s had a chance to work. Of course, even then these piercings will be able to deliver as much pain as they can pleasure.” Xanatos tapped the other control, giving Bruck a tiny taste of what could come – a fraction of a second on the lowest possible setting.
Bruck bit back a startled cry.
“Your father bound me to a framework of pain induction nodes that make these seem like a playful nibble,” he said. “Count yourself lucky I am so merciful. In fact, I think you should thank me.”
“Thank you, Master.” Bruck hadn’t hesitated, but his voice had been thick with emotion.
“Good. I want you to thank me whenever you receive correction in this manner. Understood?”
“Yes, Master.” Xanatos tapped the button again, lightly. Bruck cried out this time, but controlled himself quickly. “Thank you, Master!”
Xanatos untied Bruck’s legs and joined him on the bunk, stroking his lithe body and lifting his ankles. “I have something else for you.”
He took Bruck hard and fast, finding his own pleasure as quickly as possible. When he climaxed, Xanatos pulled out and pushed another toy inside Bruck. “Hold it in,” he ordered breathlessly.
He slipped a light, golden chain around Bruck’s slim waist and fixed a cloth strip to it. Lifting Bruck’s hips, the slipped the cloth between his nether cheeks and up between his legs. He wrapped the free end of the cloth snugly around the base of Bruck’s cock and tied the other end securely to the front of the chain. “Keep it in place, or there will be consequences.”
This time he tapped the pleasure controls and Bruck gasped and writhed. The toy inside him was similarly equipped to the rings in his piercings. “Do you like that, pet?”
“Yes, Master!” Xanatos smiled at the note of desperation in Bruck’s voice.
“There’s more.” The next thing out of the bag was a long, flexible sheath, which slipped easily over Bruck’s cock. One end adhered to the cloth at the base of his cock, and the other curled into a ring just below the head, absorbing piercing there in its folds. One more thing came out of the bag – a short, slim metal tube, encased in steri-sheeting. He opened the sheeting. “These come sterile and pre-lubricated, but I don’t know how well it will work. I suggest you brace yourself, just in case.”
Without further preamble, he inserted the tapered end of the tube into Bruck’s urethra, pressing gently until its two-inch length was fully inserted. The other end had an ornate little cover and a short metal cord. Xanatos attached the cord to the piercing, and tapped the pleasure controls, to test it.
Bruck let out a cry that settled into a low moan; his bronze flesh flushed from just under his high cheek bones all the way to his thighs. Xanatos chuckled.
“The tube is hollow, so it will allow you release.” He tugged Bruck’s ankles down and bound them to the bunk again. “I admit I’m rather anxious to see you in your pleasure.” Xanatos set the controls on a delay, so that they would afford Bruck a brief burst of bliss every few minutes, then sniffed his shirt in the region of his armpits. “But first I think I’ll hit the sonics.”
He took his time in the ‘fresher, enjoying the mounting desperation of Bruck’s cries while he cleansed himself. Leather trousers did give one a pleasing look, but they were not much improved by sweat. When he finally emerged, Bruck was glistening with sweat, writhing and whimpering on the cot.
“Master… Please!”
Xanatos grinned. “Oh, I like it when you beg. But you’ll have to be more specific.”
“Please, Master. Let me come!”
“Starving boy.” Xanatos clucked his tongue. “So selfish, though.”
Another wave of pleasure from the nodes hit Bruck, and he whimpered breathlessly. Xanatos sat beside him, running his fingertips through the beading sweat on Bruck’s chest. “I want you to beg for something else.”
“Anything, Master.” Bruck’s heels dug into the sheets as he thrust helplessly into the air above the bunk. “Please.”
“I want you to beg me to never let you come, ever again.”
Bruck sobbed openly, but mastered himself soon enough. “Please, Master… Don’t,” he breathed in, sharp, ragged and deep, so the rest came out in a rush. “Don’t ever let me come again.”
Xanatos smiled as Bruck’s breathing devolved into quiet sobs again, interrupted by an all too short burst of pleasure. “Really? I’m unconvinced. Are you certain that is what is what you want?”
“Yes!” Bruck pulled on all his bonds, voicing his frustration in a raw, wordless scream that ended in more sobbing.
“Yes… what?”
“Master!” Bruck had never looked so angry in all the time Xanatos had known him. His usually cultured voice had devolved in to an open-throated howl of rage. “Don’t let me come… ever again. Please.”
“Well,” Xanatos tossed his head, pretending to consider the request. “You do seem rather passionate about it. But I’m afraid I’d rather see you transformed by release.”
Bruck choked back a sob, and Xanatos knew he shed no tears simply because he could not physically do so. He leaned in close, licking Bruck’s parted lips as he knotted a hand in his wild, silver-white hair. At last he tapped the button and held it, smothering Bruck’s cry with a deep kiss. His lover’s scream filled his mouth, and the breath of it filled his lungs. He held the buttons until Bruck’s twitching became desperate struggling against his bonds.
“Master,” he sobbed. “Please stop!”
Xanatos noted the spray of thick, pearly semen on Bruck’s belly, and relented. The lithe body continued to twitch sporadically. He ran a finger through the semen and brushed it across his lips before kissing Bruck again. His pet seemed to be struggling to remain conscious, utterly drained of energy and will.
“Not so fast, fucktoy.” Xanatos, still naked from the sonics, straddled Bruck’s chest and leaned forward to claim the slack mouth another way. Bruck moaned, but served him well. Only when he was satisfied did Xanatos removed Bruck’s bonds and join him on the bunk for sleep.
“The Diplomat, you say?” Bail absently nibbled a thumb nail as he absorbed what Rasmir had just reported. “Why would Kenobi be there? I’d have thought he’d stay at the Temple, at least for a bit.”
Rasmir raised his hands, spreading them wide. “Obviously, we are missing key pieces of information, Your Majesty.”
Bail rolled his eyes at the honorific – one Rasmir had adopted when Bail had told him to stop addressing him as ‘Senator’ since he would no doubt be losing his seat on the Galactic Senate to one of his junior cousins. “Find out what you can. I owe Kenobi a great debt of gratitude – I should hate to think him friendless again so soon.”
Rasmir nodded his understanding. “Perhaps I can arrange an unobtrusive way to speak with him.”
Bail winced. “Only if you can be certain no one will notice. If he’s on some business for the Jedi, I should not be seen with him.” At the look on Rasmir’s face, he elaborated. “If he takes some sort of action against the Chancellor, it would be unfortunate to have Alderaan embroiled in it in some way. My successor would not thank me for that – whichever cousin father sends to replace me.” He chuckled. Every time he thought of putting his Senatorial duties behind him, he felt strangely light. Of course those thoughts generally kept company with thoughts of returning to Alderaan in disgrace, but he hoped that fate could be avoided.
“I will be the very soul of discretion.”
“Thank you, Rasmir.” Bail smiled up at him, hoping the man knew how desperately happy he was to have such a stalwart supporter. “Don’t spend too much time on this, though. Get some rest.”
Rasmir bowed, smiling, but Bail understood that the gesture was not agreement but acknowledgment of his employer’s concern. “You should rest as well. Tomorrow will have many challenges.”
Bail hesitated. Was there a hint of warning in Rasmir’s tone? “Anything specific?”
Rasmir shrugged eloquently. “It merely stands to reason. You’ve been deleting messages since your announcement, and refused messages from Alderaan along with the rest. I’d be surprised if there isn’t a ship on its way here as we speak.”
Bail sighed, wondering who his father would send to bring him home, and what would await him once he arrived. There were several specialized spas on Alderaan dedicated to adjusting deviant behaviors, and he could not be certain that a return to his home world would not include a forced stay at one of them. He was the heir, after all. “What do you think, Rasmir – should I go quietly?”
His loyal aide seemed to consider this, his tan brow furrowed. “If you return to Alderaan, it should be in the company of allies. I would not have you go friendless.” He sighed, looking uncharacteristically grumpy. “If you’d saved your messages – or even read them – I’d have a basis for a strategy when dealing with the King. As it is, we must assume the worst until the next communication.”
Bail grinned. Deleting the messages had been impulsive and childish of him, done without thought at a time when he believed he had no allies.
“I thank the gods for you, Rasmir.” It occurred to him that his regard was perhaps too avid, and he glanced down at the ice rattling in his glass. Rasmir picked up the bottle – a good Alderaani liquor – and poured him another finger. Bail chuckled. “Tell that partner of yours he’s a lucky man.”
“Oh, I’ll pass that along, for certain.” Rasmir’s dark eyes twinkled with mirth. “If there is nothing else, I will check in with you early tomorrow.”
Bail watched, grinning, as Rasmir excused himself. He was truly grateful for the man’s support and friendship, but he could not confuse it with anything more. It was a bitter irony to be alone now, when he had finally come to terms with his desires. Perhaps that was for the best.
He tossed back the rest of his drink and sought his sleep couch. As he slipped into the cool darkness between the sheets, his thoughts wandered back to Alderaan and his youth. The sweet countenance of Jace, his first love, haunted his dreams.
Xanatos lay on his side on the narrow bunk, staring at Bruck’s back. He could not remember when he had begun to weep, though the tears made a steady stream across his nose and down his cheek into the pillow.
Bruck slept deeply – a quick perusal of their bonds had assured him of that – but Xanatos stifled his sobs with a hand to keep from waking him. The same hand that had lately been so cruel. How could he have thought this would be easy?
Before leaving Coruscant, everything had seemed simple. He would do what needed to be done to save the Order, and he would push Bruck until Bruck pushed back. He had hoped to find healing for himself as well – to find a way to get beyond Bruck’s parentage.
To his great surprise, that had not proved difficult at all.
So he lay, staring through watery vision at the gleam of his lover’s white hair in the dimness, longing to touch it, to pull him close, bury his face in the silvery mass and weep. He wanted to beg forgiveness, to speak words of love from the profound turmoil in his heart. But he could not.
It would be selfish to act on that desire before Bruck had been freed of his burden. If he made overtures of reconciliation now, Bruck would forever be the supplicant, loving on Xanatos’ sufferance, still believing himself unworthy.
Bitterness mixed with the taste of tears, and Xanatos swallowed hard. He had to do this. He had to make Bruck see his own worth, whatever the cost. He could not imagine what it would take, if this hadn’t done it. Force, what was he going to do?
Calming his mind, he drew on the Light from their bond, checking to be certain Bruck was still sleeping. Xanatos scrubbed a hand over his face and curled up, hugging his knees. He cut his own father in half for me – I can do this for him.
He put both his feet against Bruck’s sleeping back and, when he stirred, straightened his legs, pushing Bruck roughly out of the bunk. “Clean yourself up, and do a good job of it, too.”
“Yes, Master.” Bruck got to his feet and walked stiffly to the ‘fresher, not looking at him.
Xanatos fortified his shields to hide the fear and uncertainty that pierced his heart. Had he gone too far, or not far enough?
When the door to the ‘fresher closed, Xanatos pressed the pillow to his face and screamed, giving muffled voice to his pent-up frustration. Then he slowly assumed a meditative pose, cleared his mind, and opened himself fully to the Light.
Rasmir found the door he was looking for and rang the chime. The carpets and rich wall hangings in the corridor of the Diplomat hotel muffled every sound. The motors of a service droid delivering something to a room at the far end supplied a low humming, but otherwise, all was silent.
He sensed the approach of a person behind the door more than heard it, and smiled at the door’s vid sensor.
A wary but cultured voice came over the comm panel. “Who are you?”
“I am Dolchen Rasmir. A friend sent me.” He held up the Galactic Senate credentials which clearly stated his relationship to Senator Organa, noting Kenobi’s cautiousness.
After a moment, the door opened to reveal Kenobi. His appearance surprised Rasmir; Kenobi was both more attractive in person and significantly more battered in appearance than the footage on the news feeds had led him to expect. Large patches of his face had bruises ranging from nearly black beneath one eye to green and yellow on the opposite cheek bone. A bacta strip had been applied to his lower lip, and the skin of his wrist, visible under an ornate bracelet where his sleeve fell back, showed signs of recent healing.
Kenobi dropped his hand from the door control pane, letting his sleeve fall. “What may I do for you?”
“Our mutual friend was concerned about you when he heard you were staying here. He thought you’d be at the Jedi Temple for some time. He sent me to see if you needed anything.”
Kenobi leaned out and glanced around the corridor before stepping back to allow Rasmir to enter. “Please come in.”
“I must apologize for the lateness of this visit. The Senator was very concerned.”
“He needn’t worry for me.” The smile that twisted the corner of Kenobi’s lips held a story, but Rasmir didn’t know the courtesan well enough to read it. “I’ve had a change of plans, that’s all.”
“Is there nothing he can do to assist you?” Rasmir had the feeling he was missing something important. Kenobi appeared to be entirely alone, not a single bodyguard. “It would distress him to think that you were unprotected and friendless, even in such well-appointed accommodations.”
“I am far from friendless, I assure you.” That half smile again. “Please tell him to rest easy, that I am well.” Kenobi leaned in close as he reached for the door controls, and whispered, “The Senator would do well to stay out of sight for the next few days. Or well away from me, at least.”
Rasmir looked into Kenobi’s eyes, and saw a gentle warning there. He nodded as the door opened. He said, “I understand” though he felt almost certain he did not. Was this courtesan up to something for the Jedi, as Prince Bail supposed? He seemed confident enough, but there was something indefinable in his bearing, a stiffness in his movements, that betrayed a tension Rasmir could not easily quantify. Still, he had received a clear enough message: Keep your master out of sight, clear of Kenobi, for his own good. “I will pass that along.”
“Good.” Kenobi said nothing else, and the door slid closed. Rasmir caught a hint of brightness in Kenobi’s eye, a slight movement of his nether lip that might have been fear just before the door hid his visage from view. Had he known Kenobi better, he might have read a clearer meaning in those signs, but he had what he needed and believed it to have been honest.
Rasmir frowned, his mind already pursuing several possibilities. The warning was vague at best, but he would have to take it seriously if he was going to help his employer successfully navigate the next week.
Bruck didn’t know where they had landed, but he could tell from the way Xanatos was fussing over their appearance that they were about to meet someone who could help them find the missing Force poisons. He understood now that Xanatos had purchased more than sex toys on his last excursion. He’d just spent the last twenty minutes being dressed like a doll.
There were golden cuffs on his ankles, wrists and on his arms just above the elbow. A matching golden belt encircled his hips, decorated with small golden chains that dangled and tinkled when he moved. A ridiculously long piece of white silken cloth had been doubled through a slit in the belt and brought up between his legs. The cloth cupped his privates then formed a rope-like twist that parted his backside. It spilled out over the back of the belt forming a translucent train that touched the floor behind him. Slim, golden sandals molded to the bottom of his feet, secured to the ankle cuffs with more jingling chains, leaving his feet, as the rest of him, mostly exposed.
An ornate necklace of inter-locking gold chains attached to his Force collar and spread out over his shoulders and chest, falling almost to his navel in front. Small chains over the shoulders linked it to the cuffs above his elbows, holing it in place. His back was bare. His hair had been pulled up into a high tail, and Xanatos had fussed with it until it laid smoothly behind his back, encased in interlocking braids with the core left to hang straight. The effect had been finished off with another golden chain ornament draped across his brow and a light misting of oil which made his exposed flesh glisten like a side of roasted nerf when the cook laid on too much glaze.
Xanatos stepped back to admire his handiwork. “You look good enough to eat.”
Bruck suppressed a snicker. “Thank you, Master.”
“Just these to go.” He pulled out more chains, and strung them loosely between all the cuffs he wore and the belt, for symbolic effect, more than restraint. The final chain was a leash, which Xanatos attached to the collar in front. He moved in close and lifted Bruck’s chin with the handle of the leash. “Keep your head held high.”
He circled slowly, sometimes stopping to pinch or stroke whatever bit of flesh caught his fancy. Cool fingers found their way down Bruck’s spine, slipping under the belt, pulling the cloth tighter between his legs. He had removed most of the toys, except for the induction nodes in his piercings.
“Hm.” Without preamble, Xanatos grabbed the cuffs above his elbows and pulled them together behind his back, clipping them to each other. “That should keep your shoulders back. Keep your hands open and relaxed. Loose. That’s better.”
Xanatos tapped a button on the control pad on his wrist, and Bruck’s knees almost buckled from the intense pleasure that shot through him, though it lasted a fraction of a second. As strong hand at the back of his neck pulled Bruck in for a long, dominating kiss.
A moment passed before he released Bruck, a smug grin on his face. “A little reward for you, and a little reward for me.”
He led the way, keeping plenty of slack in the lead so that Bruck could walk comfortably at his side, a half step behind. A quick, almost nervous glance back and Bruck heard Xanatos speak through their bond, over the buzz of the Force inhibitor. Stay sharp, and we can make this quick.
“It would help if I had some idea what we were walking into, or who we’re going to see.” The words were barely a whisper; Bruck wasn’t sure he could force the thoughts across their bond.
“No it wouldn’t – you’re a gifted Jedi, but the worst actor I’ve ever seen.” Hand paused over the ramp control panel, Xanatos turned and glared at him. “You spend the whole trip in character and drop it now - ten seconds before we walk out that door into one of the most notorious ports on the Rim?”
“You did it first.” Bruck’s voice sounded petulant to his own ears. Xanatos turned his back to Bruck and the itching began almost immediately around his piercings. He’d activated the induction nodes on the lowest pain setting, which Bruck didn’t find truly painful, though he wasn’t certain Xanatos knew it. The itching built to low-level pain and Bruck bit his lip to stifle a whimper. Realizing what was expected of him, he fell to his knees. “Master, please forgive me.”
The sensation stopped at once, and Xanatos helped Bruck to his feet, still scowling in irritation. “The local boss will be expecting me, and we must make the right impression from the time that door opens. Remember your place and we have a chance of surviving this.”
Bruck nodded his understanding, eyes lowered.
“Chin up, precious,” Xan chided, hitting the ramp controls.
Bruck took a deep breath, and followed.
Qui-Gon felt ill. His stomach churned and his head hurt. The pain in his head had been so bad that he had dreamed someone was sticking a vibroblade into his skull, and had woken with a scream scratching at his throat.
He still sat on the cot in the Force-shielded room, looking toward the window where he assumed either Tand or Phol would be watching him. He was shaking inside, but he kept his voice even. “I’m ready to try again.”
“No, you’re not.” Tand entered through the doorway, looking grim. “We have some time here. If you don’t rest every now and then, you won’t be of any use when you’re needed.”
Qui-Gon sighed heavily, grinding his teeth to keep from screaming at Tand. He wanted to scream, to rail at the Jedi, all of them. The Council had put Obi-Wan in danger, knowing that Qui-Gon would do anything it took to help him. “What do you want me to do?”
“Eat.” Tand motioned a droid into the room, rolling toward them with a food tray on top of it. “Take some water. Try to empty your mind and do some of the relaxation exercises they teach initiates. Remember, this is a marathon, not a sprint.”
Qui-Gon pressed his lips together. If he spoke, he might rail at Tand and the Council, throw things in a wild abandon of unleashed emotion as he had on the man who had hurt Obi-Wan. The man who had raped Obi-Wan. His fists clenched again, knuckles still bruised from beating Larkin to bloody pulp. He hadn’t thought the anger would feel so good, once it had him – once the fear of losing Obi-Wan gelled into the inevitable realization that he would lose Obi-Wan… He closed his eyes tightly and breathed slowly.
Something hit him lightly on the forehead. “None of that,” Tand said. “Just eat. Think about the food and drink, just the physical sensations. It will help to clear your mind for the next steps.”
Qui-Gon opened his eyes and picked up a piece of bread. He chewed mechanically, tasting nothing, swallowing as quickly as he could. Tand was right; his body needed fuel for the fight. He had a day to master himself more completely than he ever had before. He had to be ready.
Xanatos could feel Bruck quite clearly through their bonds, and smiled to himself at his lover’s swelling pride. As they walked through the streets and passages of Port Lamia, beings of all shapes and sizes stopped to gawp. The two of them cut quite a figure, but Bruck drew the eyes and admiration of the masses with his bronze body and lithe grace. He was the very picture of the haughty, spoiled pet. It was all Xanatos could do not to stop and gawp at the roll of his hips when he walked.
They had not gone far when two hard-bitten humanoids in black uniforms blocked their path. Xanaost tugged the leash to bring Bruck closer to his side. “I am Lairso Meenk. I have an appointment with your mistress.”
The two guards exchanged a look. One turned and began walking, while the other waited for Xanatos to precede him. The look of lust he cast in Bruck’s direction was not lost on Xanatos; he tightened his hold on the leash.
They were led through several streets and into a tavern. As soon as the patrons noticed Bruck, there were a few catcalls in various languages. Bruck kept his head high, disdain apparent in every detail of his appearance from his posture to the flare of his nostrils. One drunken Zabrack grabbed Bruck’s behind, and Xanatos casually dislocated his thumb and kept walking. The others still watched them, only now an aggressive silence had replaced the catcalls and appreciative grunts.
Xanatos noticed Bruck watching him out of the corner of a heavy-lidded eye. He looked every bit as haughty and vapid as the role required. Xanatos could not suppress a grin as they followed their guide through the back of the tavern and into a series of tunnels. The passage sloped downward for quite some distance, affording him his first real feelings of unease.
If they were that far underground, options for a hurried escape would be extremely limited.
Finally they emerged into what appeared to be a lavish palace – a wide, open atrium whose walls glowed from within with white light. Richly dressed people lounged about in chairs or on shapeless cushions that could be seating or sleep couches. A group of exotic males and females clumped near one of these watched them as they passed, their expressions betraying both curiosity and an anger that Xanatos did not understand.
When they had passed through the atrium, they were taken along a central passage with the same illuminated panels in the walls, emerging into a spacious and comfortable sitting room. One of their guards closed the door behind them and stood in front of it, his arms crossed. The other disappeared through a doorway opposite. Moments later he returned, followed by a tall woman with long golden hair hanging in loose ringlets down her back. She wore a carefully tailored white robe with a silver clasp beneath her breasts, with glimpses of a sheer, dark red dress showing underneath it as she moved. A wary smile livened her attractive features as she eyed the two of them appraisingly.
“Lairso Meenk.” She said the name with dry humor, though she appeared genuinely pleased to see Xanatos. “I’s been rumored you were dead.”
“The Lady Rubia’s spies know much, but not all.” Xanatos stepped forward, taking both her hands in his, kissing them each in turn. “It is Orima Durante who is dead, along with all his scum on Malum IV.”
She motioned for him to sit as a servant brought in a tray of drinks and fruit. “That was you? I’d heard it was the Jedi.”
He took the leash from the crook of his elbow and tugged it until Bruck knelt beside his chosen seat. “They came soon after – almost ruined my fun.”
“And what is this, Lairso?” She lifted her chin in Bruck’s direction. “A gift?”
Xanatos laughed and sat back, pulling the leash so that Bruck’s head came to rest on his thigh. He stroked the bright mass of hair as he spoke. “You know I’m not that generous, Navil. He’s my pet.”
Navil pressed her lips together, but soon resolved her dark expression into a wry smile. “I thought you had no need of slaves. ‘Why pay for something you can get for free.’ Wasn’t that what you used to say?”
“This one has proved more useful than you’d think.” He grabbed Bruck’s plaited tail of hair and lifted his head roughly. “He’s Durante’s son.”
Navil’s eyebrows shot up and she leaned over to raise Bruck’s chin with the tips of her fingers. “The mother must have been a beauty.”
Xanatos laughed. “No doubt. She died when he was an infant, and Durante sent him to be raised at the Jedi Temple, knowing he’d be useful one day.”
“Durante’s son is a Jedi?” Navil did not bother to feign surprise. Very little escaped the mistress of the largest information network in the galaxy. Her hand fell from Bruck’s chin to the Force inhibitor. He fingers jerked away as soon as they touched it. “How do you dare to keep such a dangerous pet?”
“He’s really quite tractable with the proper motivation.” Xanatos lifted his wrist, displaying the controls there. He could feel the tension in Bruck’s body as he waited for Xanatos to use it. He had no intention of hurting Bruck, but he knew Navil would read his body language and get the message – one he couldn’t count on Bruck to fake convincingly. Easy there, precious. Xanatos spoke across their bond while continuing to stroke Bruck’s hair. Bruck sagged in relief against his knee. “I only wish his father had lived long enough to see me train him.”
Navil sipped her tea, her expression neutral. “I’d heard that Durante had taken you.”
Xanatos stiffened, wondering just how much she knew of the details of his captivity. He could play that to his advantage, as well. He held her gaze and forced a smile, a feral baring of his teeth. “He should have killed me when he had the chance.”
She suddenly found her teacup very interesting. “I see.”
She probably did see more than he would have liked, but it would be enough to convince her that Meenk had cause to make an exception to his previous ‘no slaves’ policy. If she believed Bruck’s captivity was his revenge, that was to the good.
“I won’t waste any more of your time on trivialities, Navil.” Xanatos drank his tea in one gulp. “I need your help.”
She tore her gaze away from the solemn figure of Bruck and quirked a brow. “What help can I possibly offer the great Lairso Meenk?”
“Information, of course.” Xanatos smiled and set his cup aside. “Durante was making something – something dangerous – on Malum IV, but it was gone by the time I got there. I need to find it.”
Navil regarded him for a long moment. “Why?”
Xanatos thought Lairso should seethe a moment, so he let his own buried resentment show on his face. He rotated his wrist, slowly wrapping the leash around his hand. “Because, like everything that once belonged to Durante, it’s mine now.”
For the first time since she had greeted him, Navil looked on him coldly. She set aside her cup. “It will cost you.”
Xanatos could sense a change in her, and it worried him. He would not have thought her the type to be involved with Durante in a conspiracy against the Jedi, but something was going on here that he didn’t understand. “You have the information I need.”
A mirthless smile twisted at her lips. “I do.”
Maybe he had overplayed his hand. Navil certainly knew now that the information was very important to him, though she didn’t know the real reason. Sensing his desperation, she might ask for more than he’d be able to get. It would have been better had she believed it merely a fancy of his, not part of some vendetta. Still he had little choice but to play the part he’d chosen. “Name your price.”
The corners of her mouth twitched, an expression he remembered as one of triumph.
“The location of Durante’s weapon is yours, if you leave him with me.”
Careful to keep his expression calm, Xanatos took a moment to think about his next move. The stab of panic he felt across his bond with Bruck didn’t exactly help him concentrate. He gave Navil his most charming smile. “You cannot have him. Surely something else will suffice?”
“No. I think not.” Navil returned his smile.
Damn Xanatos bit his lip. Perhaps he had played the revenge angle too hard, and Navil pitied Bruck, or maybe she could not resist the lure of adding a former Jedi to her web of spies. “What do you think, boy? Would you like to go to one of Lady Rubia’s brothels? You’d be a lovely whore and a better spy, no doubt, than most of her slatterns. Perhaps you’d even find means to escape, eventually.” Make it convincing he added to Bruck across their bond.
He need not have worried – the bond told him Bruck’s fear was genuine, and he let it show.
Bruck sat up, his wide eyes fixed on Xanatos. He trembled. “No, Master. Please…”
He reached down and pulled Bruck half onto his lap, soothing him gently. He whispered calming words and continued to stroke Bruck’s hair. “I think you may have misapprehended his situation, Navil. He is quite happy with me. Aren’t you, boy?”
“Yes, Master.” Bruck rested his head on his shoulder.
“As you can see, he’s become quite attached to me. His mother’s race form strong psychic bonds with their sexual partners. Too many bonds, and they wither and die.” Xanatos stroked Bruck’s flank, letting his hand rest on his hip before sliding across the curve of his backside. “I was his first, and had him willing.” Bruck stiffened as gloved fingers trailed along the cloth parting his buttocks. Xanatos chuckled. “Did you think I didn’t know, Pet?” He turned his attention back to Navil. “He would not survive long in your employ, I am sorry to say.”
The look of surprise on Navil’s face was almost comical. “His mother was Velusian?” She quickly stood, turning her back to Xanatos to pour more tea. He felt certain she did this to hide her revealing expression. Bruck whispered against his ear, in tones that trembled, “I think she knew my mother.”
Fuck. He’d stumbled into that one when surely the Force would have led him differently, had but been better connected to it. Navil was trying to rescue Bruck from the questionable clutches of Lairso Meenk. Xanatos knew her well enough to feel certain she wasn’t going to take no for an answer, unless he could amend his little tale to satisfy her. He stroked Bruck’s complicated plait, his mind racing.
Navil had returned with her tea, and stood regarding them, her expression once again unreadable. “Perhaps you and I should speak in private, Lairso.”
Xanatos considered for a moment, assessing his options. He could still salvage this situation. Perhaps a private discussion would allow him to convince her, if he kept his bonds with Bruck open wide and filled with Light. “Very well.”
Xanatos held him a moment longer, feeling the Light flood through him through their bonds. When Bruck stood, he reached out to steady him, knowing balance might be difficult with his arms still bound together above the elbows and his connection to the Force impaired. He reached up and released the link holding his upper arms together, giving him freedom of movement. Stay sharp.
Bruck nodded in reply.
Navil turned to her two guards, who stood by the door they had entered. “Take him to the commons and see that he gets refreshment.”
When Bruck and the guards had left, Navil sat and placed a small device on the table between them. At the touch of her fingers, a privacy field expanded from it until it covered them completely. Xanatos leaned back in his seat, waiting.
“What is this about, really?” Navil asked.
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“I know Durante had a son – he bragged about him being raised a Jedi often enough – and I know that he captured you some time ago. Rumor said he had you pegged for an undercover Jedi, which seemed to be confirmed when a Jedi ship rescued you.” Xanatos must have betrayed a flicker of a reaction to this news, because Navil smiled. “I have ears on every pillow from the Rim to Coruscant, but no one has seen you since then. Where have you been, and what is it you really want?”
“You’re right – the Jedi did rescue me.” He pulled off his right glove, exposing his prosthesis. “They also saw to my medical care. Durante had told me about his Jedi whelp, and I took the opportunity to make the boy’s acquaintance while I was at the Temple. He came with me willing.”
Navil looked him in the eyes, smirking. “Got more than he bargained for, though. Didn’t he?”
Xanatos nodded once, raising an eyebrow. “All’s fair in love.”
“And revenge.” Navil continued to sip her tea. “Still, you don’t need him any longer, do you? Give him to me, and the location of Durante’s secret weapon is yours.”
He sighed, pretending to consider the offer. “He would be as useless to you as a full-blooded Velusian. Why do you want him?”
“What is it that you think I do, Lairso?”
“The flesh trade, of course, but your true commerce has always been in information.” Though now that Xanatos gave it some thought, he had first met Navil at a slave auction. In a sudden rush he realized how stupid he had been. Navil didn’t fill her brothels with bed slaves – she freed bed slaves and trained them as spies. “Slaves wouldn’t make trustworthy spies, but freed slaves are loyal to you. Quite the set-up.”
Navil looked vaguely disappointed. “You only just worked that one out?”
“I’ve always seen the competent, ruthless businesswoman." Perhaps he'd be better off Force blind, after all. "I never suspected that an altruist lay hidden beneath her.”
This time, Navil laughed. “Altruist? Hardly. You had it right the first time. Freeing bed slaves is good business.”
“But why do you want mine? Surely he would be of no use to you.”
“The gratitude of a Jedi could be useful.” She stared at Xanatos long enough for him to believe she was trying to read his mind.
“He will not be grateful to be parted from me. Why don’t you bring him back, and ask him yourself? You can speak to him privately – I won’t interfere.”
She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Why don’t you just tell me the truth?”
She knows, Xanatos thought. Of course she knows. “You’re asking me to share my secrets with spy mistress of half the Galaxy?”
“Only half?” A fine eyebrow raised. “Your secret is out, Knight T’Crion. I allowed you to continue the ruse this long because you seemed to be enjoying it so. That, and I have fondness for Jedi.”
Xanatos touched the Light and saw no other recourse. “How long have you known?”
“I had my suspicions from the first, though you did enough to dispel them early on.” Her lips parted in a broad, genuine grin. “Sasha still asks after you.”
“That was a memorable tenday.” Force help him, Xanatos felt the rise of heat in his cheeks and knew that he had blushed. “How widely is my cover blown?”
A single line appeared between her fine, golden brows. “Difficult to say. I can find out, but you’d do well to retire Meenk for the time being.”
“I won’t need him if you can give me the location of Durante’s weapon.” Xanatos flashed her his most charming grin. “And you’ll have the gratitude of more than one Jedi.”
Navil spoke, but her words were lost in the overwhelming tumult that exploded in his head. It hit him like blaster fire, the shock through his bonds with Bruck. One moment all was peace and Light, then there was fear and struggle, like a sudden attack. The force of it nearly split his head, then subsided to a dull throb.
“Something’s wrong.” He stood half running for the door. “Bring him back!”
Cutting him a sidelong glance, Navil spoke into her comlink. “Return our guest to his master.”
The Force urged Xanatos on; he was half way out the door before Navil’s comlink crackled.
“Mistress, we can’t find him.”
Part 34
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